


The Drink was a Mistake

by kayisdreaming



Series: Odin Sphere Ficlets [1]
Category: Odin Sphere
Genre: And sad things, F/M, I may have overdone the cuteness I'm not used to writing cute things anymore, Mostly I'm just a sucker for fluff, oh and drinking, prepare for both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 01:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: In which one of the elf knights realizes it was a terrible error to offer the Queen a drink.





	The Drink was a Mistake

The Vanir were cheering, the flora was bright and lush, and Titrel was sitting upon her finger.

And yet, Mercedes still felt so empty.

She couldn’t understand it—hadn’t been able to since the moment they had returned from Valentine’s ruins. Everything felt so heavy. She could barely get the will to fly, feeling weighed so by the crown upon her head, he mother’s crossbow in her arms, that little ring upon her finger.

She looked down at it. It was such a small thing, seemingly so insignificant and so indistinguishable from any other sort of jewelry. And yet the Demon King had nearly destroyed their home with it. And so many Vanir had returned to the earth because of it. And she had very nearly let herself become a monster of revenge for it.

But the fairies didn’t seem to think it as a curse. No, they cheered for the victory, for the reclamation of the Cauldron and the defeat of the Demon King. The deceased were martyrs, not sources of mourning.

“Your Majesty, are you well?”

Mercedes blinked, looking up from her mother’s throne. Her throne. It was one of the elf-knights, his sword and shield replaced with a single glass. He held it close to himself, face half-obscured by his helmet. His slight frown, however, was still quite visible.

“O-of course!” She sat a bit straighter, trying to emulate the pose she had seen a billion times. “Why wouldn’t I be?” It was hard to keep the squeak from her voice, but she could commend herself on the grand effort.

“I do not know.” He replied.

To be honest, she didn’t know, either. The doctors had said she was fine. Every time she had gone. Physically, she hadn’t suffered much more than a few minor injuries with the Demon King, but that had been nothing a good amount of alchemy and healing potions hadn’t fixed. But past that . . . she was still so unsure.

Ingway would laugh at her for being so indecisive and foolish.

 _Ingway_. The thought of his very name made her chest ache. She could still hear his voice in her ears, see his face when she closed her eyes. He had risked his life more than once for her, and left when she had barely deigned to kiss him. Her mistakes seemed to pierce her far worse than the Valkyries’ spears had.

“Your Majesty?”

“Oh! Sorry. It’s . . .” Her nails dug into her palms hard enough to make her knuckles ache. “I was thinking of those taken from us.”

“I see.” He looked down in consideration. A small smile played upon his lips, and he gently took her hand. “I apologize for the insolence, but perhaps this may help.” He placed the glass in her hand, bringing her other one around to keep it from spilling.

She looked down at it. The liquid inside was incredibly dark, seemingly staining the sides for a moment as it swished around the glass. She could smell the sickeningly sweet aroma within even as it sat in her lap. She recognized the flower it came from, one that older fairies constantly scolded the young ones to keep them from eating them. While she knew of its effects as she got older, she had never really been one to partake.

“Do not worry yourself, Your Majesty.” Well, the knight certainly seemed to be enjoying himself now. She was almost tempted to toss him out the window. “’Tis not poison.” He motioned toward the group nearer the center of the room, where a few hunters were trying to see if they could get a Paladin to experience flight by carrying him. “They seem to be enjoying it.”

“Well . . .”

“It helps the soul.”

Well, Mercedes thought, it certainly couldn’t make things worse.

\---

He had realized, about halfway through the evening, that he had made a grand mistake. Sure, he had the Queen seated in the gardens just outside the palace _now_ , but that was just a recent accomplishment. A feat of extraordinary luck, really.

He had chased her down and caught her as she tried to walk off one of the balconies, so certain that it would be a quicker way to the other side of the room. Of course, she had completely forgotten that she would need to use her wings to actually fly _anywhere_.

He had tried to help her untangle her braid from one of the Paladin’s horns, snagged from the piggyback ride he had been thrilled to give the Fairy Queen. Likely he had given her many when she was a child, by the way the rest were cheering and giggling. Certainly any of them could have helped repair her braid, but the drink had made them all rather clumsy at it and required that one so immensely inexperienced as he take to the task.

He had tried quite hard to water down the stain on her sleeve as she spilled her glass while giggling about something positively silly. She teased that she had not yet had enough to properly function, even as he pulled the now very empty glass from her. He didn’t know how many of these garments she had, but he was certain that he did not want her to curse him later if she only had one.

He had been her arm as she stumbled down the hall to try to get outside because there was too much air in this room and it would be much better outside. She had tried very hard to reach the wall to balance herself, but was well off by another arm’s distance.

But at least she was still now. He had thought that might be a comfort, but he was quite mistaken.

He was quite out of energy, but a part of him wanted her up and about once more. Her expression was much more somber than it ever had been. Her fingers brushed against the glass, flicking as they extended and pulled close along the surface.

“Your Majesty?”

“I know what’s wrong.” She blurted, head low and shoulders slumped. “I lied.”

He opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say. He feared redundancy, but those were the only two words which could reach his lips from his brain. So he said nothing.

“Have you . . . have ever been in love?”

He opened his mouth, startled by the question. “I am afraid not.”

“O-oh.” Her head dipped even lower.

He dared a question. “Are you in love, Your Majesty?” She looked away, and he took that as leave to continue. “Is he a fairy?”

She shook her head, bringing the cup to her mouth again. He tried to hide a smile at her disappointment with the empty glass.

“I do not judge you, Your Majesty.” He said, offering her a smile. “What is he like?”

She stiffened. Her head turned even further away from him, wings fluttering just slightly in her agitation. He had pushed too hard. It would be a miracle if she didn’t scamper up the nearby tree, only to fall out of it. He wondered if he might be fast enough to catch her.

The least he could do was apologize for his mistakes. He was one of many, so at least he could redeem himself for one. “I—“

“He’s a frog. And a prince.” Her voice was quiet, but he could hear just the faintest giggle. “A frog prince.”

He blinked, stunned. She looked up at him, red eyes intently searching his expression. He knew it was his turn to provide support, interest, something. But he had nothing.

Perhaps it was the alcohol that made her unable to read his expression. She continued, looking across the garden to something far in the distance. “He was the frog. That nosy, pushy, irritating, bothersome, annoying frog.”

“It does not seem like you cared much for him.”

She smiled. “Not at first.”

“But . . .?”

“He sees right through me. It’s absolutely infuriating, but he knows me better than I know me. And he’s . . . he’s . . .”

She paused to consider her words. She looked up toward the sky, the glow in her cheeks rivaling the hues of the flowers in the garden. It was astounding, really. He found himself positively entranced by it.

“He’s such an utter frog!” She complained. “I could hardly be rid of him when he was slimy and green and gross. And he gets his kiss and shows me the prettiest auburn hair just out in all directions everywhere but so so pretty and those eyes! I’ve never seen eyes that wonderfully colored! I could stare at them all day and never grow bored! And to think that smile was one I could have seen all this time—that he was keeping to himself and—and—“ she buried her face in her hands. He could just see the barest movement of her shoulders in a slight shake. “The moment he shows me, he leaves. ‘We will meet again’—who says that?”

“A man who needs to leave but wishes to see his Queen again?”

She snapped a glare at him. The flush had spread much farther, but he was sure that was the alcohol. “A frog—that’s who! A slimy, annoying . . . bothersome . . .” she looked down, “. . . frog.”

With a sigh that seemed to bear the weight of the universe, she leaned against him. She was short enough that her head rested against his shoulder. She was so light that the weight hardly mattered. But in the small contact, he could still feel the small stifled movements of quiet tears.

He couldn’t think of a word to say. Perhaps there were no words that could be. He knew, though, that the strange silence was preferable to misplaced words. Her weight pressed a bit more against him, the glass dropped to the grass.

“I miss him.” She muttered, voice barely audible.

He let out a breath. “I am certain he . . .” He shook his head, instead looking down to her. She was fast asleep, impervious to his words. He sighed. Gently, carefully, he lifted her in his arms to take her to her room.

\--

She looked so small compared to the size of her bed. She had fallen into the plush mattress quite easily, with far less effort than he had anticipated. Her cheeks were still so flushed, but her breaths were soft and gentle. It was hard to imagine that she had taken on and defeated the Demon King by herself.

But he knew better. He knew that strength deep within her. Once one got through the spoiled child, the sentiments inevitable to one born to such luxuries as her, there had always been promise. It was the person that she really was that had kept him so close.

With a sigh, he let the illusion around him dissipate.

Ingway had not realized that it was he who threatened it so. He had thought that, if he left quickly enough, he might be able to leave no trace at all. It was her fault, really. Had she kissed him when he asked, had she kept her end of the bargain, this never would have happened.

But he wouldn’t have traded those moments for anything.

“I lied.” He muttered. “This frog knows quite well what it is to be in love.” He knew that feeling so well that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to know otherwise. It was a bitter pain, but one well worth the pleasure. It was what made his heart warm now, just being able to touch her fingers with the tips of his own.

It was what made the pain in his chest nearly unbearable with the very thought of leaving her.

“I . . . apologize.” He muttered. He leaned forward, lips inches from her forehead. Reality made him pause, and he pulled away. No, it would wake her. And if she was awake, he might never leave.

He turned, biting his lip. This was for the best.

As he lifted, he was quite startled to feel a pressure around his shoulders and neck. Instinct had him move a bit too quickly, and panic was quick to settle in as he realized what was holding him back.

Mercedes grasped his cloak tightly between her fingers. Her eyes were half-open, the lids clearly threatening to pull her back to sleep. Her gaze was as unfocused as her grip was firm.

“I know you’re a dream.” She muttered. “So please . . . please stay a little longer.”

Ingway could feel the slightest heat to his cheek. Tentatively, he achieved the desire he had deprived himself before. He kissed her forehead and smiled. “As my Queen commands.”

He would have to leave before she woke, he was certain. Otherwise, he had little doubt she would turn him to a frog herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm thinking about making a series with just fluff and sad things for all of the couples! Who's your favorite?


End file.
